Death on Horseback
by Quicksilver
Summary: My VERY FIRST fanfic written eons ago... remember that as you read this. Methos remembers an encounter of mythic proportions....


Death on Horseback Death on Horseback   
BY: QUICKSILVER   
Standard Disclaimers   
Feedback is good- if enough of it's positive, I'll do a longer story tying up the loose end.!   
mbsilvana@yahoo.com 

MacLeod turned the pages in his book, coming to his favorite quote. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy," he read aloud, his slight Scottish burr returning to caress the words with relish.   
Methos looked up from the book he was reading. "Hamlet? I would have thought you would have preferred MacBeth."   
MacLeod shrugged. "I think Shakespeare's greatest play is Hamlet- ignoring Scottish sympathies. Besides, MacBeth was taken and turned into something it isn't."   
"They didn't even get his name right," Methos agreed.   
The two Immortals returned to their reading before MacLeod got up the courage to ask a question. "Do you agree with Shakespeare?" he finally asked, hoping to get some information out of the ever-sly Methos.   
"About there being more things? Of course. All we have to do is look at us."   
MacLeod nodded, putting his copy of Hamlet aside. "But what else is there?"   
Methos gave his usual secretive grin. "In my five-thousand years, I've seen wonders that would, how do the Americans say it?- blow your mind."   
"Like what?" MacLeod said, pouncing on Methos' talkative mood. Playing the "all wise" elder was fine, but only up to a certain point.   
"Magic," he answered simply.   
MacLeod scoffed. "Magic?" he said disdainfully.   
"Remember the holy spring?" Methos countered. "There are creatures beyond our imagining, creatures that can't be acknowledged by the rational mind." He shivered slightly, and MacLeod felt himself tense. Something made Methos uneasy.   
"What?"   
"The Wild Hunt. I remember...." he trailed off, before telling MacLeod an astounding story. 

The dogs bayed wildly at his heels, and Talis felt his second wind kick in. He'd lived for three millennia, but nothing had ever inspired such fear in him. The dogs had eyes of fire and the being who drove them couldn't be called human. He felt his heart pound in his chest, felt the fear start to devour him. He, Talis, Methos, The man of a hundred other names, had once been Death! Now it was Death who was the prey.   
He wanted more than anything to be back among the Horsemen, for surely together they would be invincible. But the Horsemen had disbanded, and Methos had become Talis, a man of peace.   
He glanced back once more, and caught a glimpse of the Hunter's face. He felt himself pale. This could only be the Wild Hunt, and no one ever escape alive.   
His body kept moving, even though his mind was paralyzed. Hellorin's face was inhuman, with smoothly sculpted features that might have been made out of white marble.   
It seemed as though the forest itself was against Talis. The branches reached up and snagged his legs, whipped against his face. He heard the silence of the woods, a dramatic contrast to his pounding feet and ragged breath. The animals were hidden, instinctively knowing that the Hunt rode.   
Then Methos asserted himself. Talis had no spine. It was time he, Death, stood his ground. If he was going to die, he would die like a man, facing Hellorin by himself, in armed combat. An Immortal lived and died by the blade.   
He spun around, drawing his sword, the sword he hadn't used in years. The hounds quickly caught up to him, encircling him. But none attacked.   
There was no escape. Hellorin approached, and dropped the reins. "So you think to fight me?" he asked, his voice amused. It sounded like he was speaking from the bottom of a well.   
Methos raised his sword, remaining silent.   
Hellorin dismounted, tossing the reins down. Amazingly, one of the dogs left the circle to grab them. Methos watched as the hound led the horse away. the dogs closed ranks, and again the circle was complete. "On even ground, then," Hellorin said.   
This was against everything Methos had ever heard about the Lord of the Hunt. He was suppose to be brutal, merciless, seeking only the kill.   
Methos saluted, and then the fight began. Hellorin took the first move, swinging his sword at Methos. Methos raised his blade to block the stroke. The blades rang off each other, and Methos felt his arms give slightly. Hellorin was strong, stronger than any Immortal or mortal he'd ever faced.   
And so the fight continued, Methos parrying ever attack sent to him, constantly on the retreat. He managed only one offensive move, and it was a mistake. He swung towards Hellorin's wrist, hoping to disarm him. Hellorin caught the blow with his bare hand, yanking the sword from Methos' grasp with inhuman strength. He tossed it far away, and Methos watched helplessly as Hellorin's sword descended towards his neck.   
  
"And than what happened? MacLeod asked.   
"I don't know."   
"What!" MacLeod exclaimed.   
Methos took a calm sip of his beer. "I felt something strike my neck, and I closed my eyes. When I opened my eyes, Hellorin and his hounds were gone. All I had left was some nice bruises on my neck, and the sword he'd thrown. He'd thrown it so hard that it went all the way through a tree. I wasn't able to get it out."   
"But why did he leave you alone?" MacLeod asked.   
Methos shuddered again. "I don't know. Maybe he was playing with me."   
"Playing with you?"   
"Yes. Like a cat, playing with a mouse, letting it THINK it escaped," Methos answered.   
"But- it's been two thousand years!"   
"And not a day goes by when I don't think of him, His eyes, MacLeod- his eyes are like fire!" Methos said. "And I still can't stand dogs. I hear something howl at night, and I think that he's coming for me. I won't die by the hand of one of us, MacLeod. One of these days, Hellorin will come for me. And I will die."   
  
THE END- for now....   
FEEDBACK! FEEDBACK!!! Get the point?   
  



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